For the erotica buffs: Yes, the title is a reference to the 1954 novel, but this story is very different in spirit and content.
Also, my stories have been getting nice ratings, but I 'd love to hear from readers directly. So if you enjoy this, please feel free to send a comment or personal message.
Ringing the door to someone's home for the first time has always sort of felt like a rite of passage to me. You're being let into someone's private space, and more likely than not, your relationship with this person won't be the same after that.
Still, I have never felt as much trepidation about ringing a doorbell as this early evening standing in front of O's place, 20 minutes late because in my excitement I have missed the right metro stop... It was a bold move - and a sign of trust, I hoped - that O had suggested her home for our first real-life encounter.
We have met on a kink forum. Given our ages - mine 48, hers 25 - I first suspected some kind of catfish. But she convinced me that she was real and that we were looking for the same thing. The age gap wasn't a particular turn-on for either of us, but it wasn't an issue either.
She opens the door with a big smile. "You came! I was starting to fear you had chickened out," she says teasingly while giving me a hug.
Her touch feels good, and when we release, she leaves her hand on my arm and guides me in. I have seen plenty of pictures, but still I'm impressed by how beautiful O is. Long hair, big eyes, full red lips, a smile that at the same time is warming and makes you feel you aren't quite in on a private joke.
The one thing that strikes me as she leads me through the hallway to her living room, is how tall she is. In her heels, she's probably a few centimeters higher than me.
Her place is cozy. She tells me to sit down on a colorful corner couch with lots of pillows. She sits next to me and we chat. About how she likes the neighborhood, how her work is going, ... friendly chit chat.
O has recently moved to Brussels to work for the EU after studying politics in various European countries. Her English is flawless, with only the hint of an accent giving away her East-European descent.
She's wearing a black blouse with a pink and red floral print, on top of a black skirt that reaches just above her knees. Without being overtly sexual, the attire shows off her curves and her athletic legs beautifully.
Sitting there on her couch next to each other, chatting, we might look like friends catching up after a period apart. With only her occasional touches of my arm or knee suggesting that some flirting might be going on.
"Where are my manners?", she suddenly says. "I haven't even offered you a drink yet. I've cooled some bubbles, is that ok?"
"That sounds lovely, thanks."
"Great. I'll go get it. When I come back, I want you to be naked." All said with a smile and in the same light-hearted tone. Then she disappears into the kitchen.
So this is it. The point of no return. If I obey, I'll be the sub to this magnificent domme. Just like we talked about online. She has made it no secret that it wouldn't be her first time dominating a man. For me, this is uncharted territory.
I'd like to say that there on that couch I carefully consider my situation before taking that leap of faith with what is essentially a stranger. The truth is, my shirt is off before she has good and well left the room. I have given this plenty of thought beforehand. Today I'm here to obey this woman and prepared to handle anything she might throw at me.
I take off my shoes and trousers and stand there for a moment in my underpants. Maybe this is enough? No, she has said naked. Off they go.
You haven't felt nude until you've been nude on a stranger's couch, all alone, not quite knowing what's going to come next. While I had definitely felt my cock stir while I had been talking to O, the stress of the situation now makes Mr. P lay dormant between my legs.
O walks back in, carrying a tray with our drinks. To my surprise, she is completely naked too. By now, I was fully expecting her to make me suffer the humiliation of being the only one undressed a bit longer. Then again, I know that degradation isn't her thing. Control and dominance are.
She looks absolutely stunning. Her tits, a bit smaller and firmer than I had imagined, are crowned by large, pink areolas and thick nipples. Between her legs, no sign of pubic hair.
"So", she says, putting down the tray, "I'm glad you're playing. I'd feel silly otherwise."
We laugh, and I feel grateful to her for making light of the situation, knowing fully well that she had no doubt of finding me naked.
She raises her glass and smiles broadly. "To playing. Let's have fun."
Distracted by her naked body and the cheerful talk, l haven't looked at the tray on the table yet. Now that I do, to take my glass and respond to her toast, I catch my breath. On the tray next to the glasses there is a strap-on. The harness is black, the sizable dildo on it bright pink.
Swallowing hard, I take my glass, look her straight in the eyes and raise my glass to hers. "To playing!"